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Hey, welcome back to the podcast. Before the stories begin, I just want to remind you that my film that I've been producing, gale Yellow Brick Road, is coming to theaters February 11th. It's a dark wizard of Oz story. I really think you're going to love it. You can get your tickets now by clicking the link in the description. You can go to fathome entertainment.com to get tickets or Fandango. If you really want to show your support for this podcast, please buy a ticket to my movie and bring a friend. I promise you will not be let down. I have poured my heart and soul into this film and it's absolutely everything to me. Also, I just want to remind you that I do have two other podcasts. The links to both of them are in the description to this episode. And the last thing I want to say is thank you for being here. I really hope you enjoy this episode. And please do me a favor and follow on Spotify and now, let's begin. This happened recently, and even now it still gives me the chills. I was home alone with my dog Max, and two of my friend Sarah's dogs, Luna and Miko. Sarah had begged me to watch them while she went on a weekend getaway, and since I had the space, I agreed. Three dogs at once was kind of a lot, but they were good company. It was supposed to be just another quiet evening at the house. That's what it was supposed to be anyway. The dogs had been lounging in the living room with me while I scrolled. Max was curled up at my feet like usual. Luna was stretched out by the couch, and Miko was snoring softly near the TV stand. Everything was fine. But then all of a sudden they all looked up at the same exact time. I looked up too, a little startled, wondering what they were doing. All three dogs had their ears perked, their bodies looked tense, and they were staring up at the loft. I felt a small ripple of unease, but I brushed it off. What's the matter guys? I said, my voice a little nervous. The loft was just a storage space, but it was dark and quiet up there. Just then, Max let out a low growl and then suddenly followed by sharp, frantic barks from Luna and Miko. They were losing their minds, barking like they had seen something or someone. Hey, calm down. Stop. Stop. I tried to get them to stop, but my own voice was shaky. I glanced up towards the loft again, but there was nothing there that I could see, just shadows and the vague outline of boxes and furniture. The dogs did not care. They Were fixated on something that I couldn't see, Barking as if their lives depended on it. And then I heard it bark. The voice was soft and calm, almost amused, like someone was mocking them. Or mocking me, obviously. Yes, it came from the loft, clear as day. My breath caught in my throat and goosebumps appeared on my skin. I froze. Did I imagine this? There's no way. No, it was too real. The dogs heard it, too, because they absolutely lost their minds, barking even louder and backing away from the loft. They were scared, and seeing them scared was terrifying. I tried to convince myself that it was nothing. There's no way that someone's up there. Maybe the sound carried from outside. Maybe it was some kind of echo. But deep down, I knew better. That voice wasn't mine. And there was no one else supposed to be in this house. Hello? I called out, hating how small my voice sounded. No response. The dogs kept barking, their eyes glued to the loft. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I thought I might have a heart attack. I felt like a kid again, afraid of the monster under the bed. Except now it was real. I didn't stick around to figure this out. I grabbed the dog's leashes with shaking hands. We're going for a walk. Come on. We're going for a walk. They didn't need convincing. We were out the door in less than a minute. Once we were outside, the cold air hit me hard, and I realized how fast I had been breathing. The street lights were casting shadows across the pavement. Every sound, I heard rustling leaves, cars. They all made me jump, which was not normal. I was just so on edge. I kept glancing back at the house, half expecting to see someone watching us from the window. I walked for a long time, trying to shake off the fear, telling myself that I was being ridiculous. The dogs calmed down instantly as soon as we went outside. But I wasn't. That voice played over and over in my head. It wasn't just the word, it was the way it was said. Said, calm, playful, like whoever it was wanted me to know they were there. When I finally made my way back to the house, it was late. The house looked even darker than it did before. I hesitated at the door, debating whether I should just drive to a motel for the night or something. But I told myself, I'm being ridiculous. There's no one in there. I would lock all the doors, turn on all the lights, and everything would be just fine. Stepping inside, I immediately flipped every switch I could reach, flooding the house with light. The dogs stuck close to me, their usual playful energy replaced with quiet nervousness. I stared up at the loft, my heart racing, but it was empty, at least as far as I could see. I grabbed a flashlight from the closet by the kitchen, and I forced myself to climb those stairs. My hands were soaking wet, and I felt like I was walking into a horror movie. The loft was just as it was supposed to be. Boxes, furniture, some old blankets stacked in the corner. Nothing seemed out of place, but it didn't feel right. The air up there was heavy, like something was watching me from somewhere. I didn't stay long. I hurried back downstairs, locked every door and window, and tried to convince myself that it was all in my head. But deep down I knew it wasn't. I definitely heard someone say bark. Someone had been there. I didn't sleep well that night, as you can imagine. I don't think the dogs did either. The next morning I called Sarah and told her that I couldn't watch her dogs anymore. I didn't explain why. How do you tell someone their dogs heard a voice in your house? She didn't ask many questions. She just picked them up later that day. Even now, I can't stop thinking about that voice. It wasn't angry or threatening. It was somehow worse. It was playful, which is somehow much more terrifying. They wanted me to know they were there, but they didn't need to. So why did they? I haven't been back there since, and Sarah has never mentioned that she experienced anything similar in her house. But still I can't shake the feeling that there's something there, or someone there waiting. And that's the scariest part. My great aunt Grace was a remarkable woman. Though she had been blind since her 20s, she never let her lack of sight define her. Grace lived alone in a small house deep in the southern woods, not far from an old prison. She often joked that being blind made her world quieter, easier to manage. But she admitted that sometimes silence could be a curse. One summer evening, Grace sat in her favorite chair by the radio, her fingers resting lightly on the wooden armrest. The radio was her lifeline to the outside world, and she loved her evening programs. That night, however, her routine was interrupted by a sudden news bulletin. Authorities are warning residents to stay vigilant. A prisoner has escaped from a nearby penitentiary. The man is considered dangerous. Grace sat motionless as the words sank in. She couldn't see her surroundings, but she could feel the walls of her little house closing in. Her fingers gripped the armrests tighter as she leaned toward the radio, listening for more. When the broadcast ended. Silence crept back into the room. But now it felt suffocating, filled with invisible weight. Taking a deep breath, she stood and moved to the front door, her hand brushing lightly against the familiar surface of her walking stick. She reached the door and felt for the deadbolt, sliding it into place. From there she went, window to window, her fingers trailing along the frames to ensure every latch was secure. Her hands knew every inch of her home, and she relied on touch the way others relied on sight. She double checked each lock, her heart beating faster with each quiet click. When she was satisfied the house was secure, she went to her bedroom. The air felt heavy tonight. It was thicker somehow, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something felt off. She felt the edge of her bed with her hand and sat down slowly, the mattress sagging slightly under her weight. But as soon as she sat, her heart stopped. She felt as if there was a shift beneath her. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable nonetheless. Something under the bed moved. Grace froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her ears strained against the silence, listening for anything, any movement, any sound at all, but all she could hear was her own shallow breathing. Her fingers brushed against her walking stick again, and she gripped it tightly. She stood, her movements deliberate and quiet, every muscle in her body tense. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she backed away from the bed, her other hand brushing against the edge of the dresser until it found the smooth, familiar shape of the phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the operator. Hello, this is Grace Warner, she whispered, her voice steady despite the terror crawling up her spine. I need the police. There's someone in my house. The minutes dragged on, each one stretching into eternity. Grace stood motionless in the corner of the room, clutching her walking stick like a lifeline. She heard nothing. The silence pressed against her ears, but she could feel something, a presence, something in the room. She didn't need her eyes to know. She was not alone. Finally, the sound of tires crunching on gravel broke the suffocating silence. Relief washed over her as she heard the heavy footsteps of the police entering the house. She called out to them, directing them to the bedroom. One of the officers knelt down and lifted the edge of the mattress. The room was silent for a moment, and then came the sharp, commanding voice of the officer. Come out with your hands where I can see them. There was a scuffle, followed by a clatter of handcuffs. Grace's legs buckled and she sank into a chair, her walking stick falling to the floor. She couldn't see what was happening, but the tension in the air told her enough. The officers escorted the man out of her house, and one of them returned to explain. I believe this is the man that disappeared from the prison, ma'. Am. I'm sure you know that he was under your bed. Is that right, ma'? Am. He. It appears he took one of your kitchen knives. My guess is he was waiting for you to fall asleep, ma'. Am. The words sent a cold wave of terror through her body. Grace sat in stunned silence, gripping the armrests of her chair until her knuckles ached. The man had been right there, inches from where she had been standing. He must have heard her call the police, and yet he did nothing. She couldn't see him, but she could feel the echo of his presence the whole time. The police eventually left, and Grace closed the door behind them. She told herself it was over, that she was safe. But the house didn't feel like it should. It didn't feel like her comfortable safe haven anymore. The walls seemed to press in again. Grace eventually managed to lie down, exhaustion pulling her into a restless sleep. But her rest was shattered just a few hours later when, in the dead of night, she heard her front door open. The noise jolted her awake, her heart hammering in her chest, she quickly sat up, grabbed her walking stick, and stumbled out of bed, her feet finding the floor with urgent purpose. Her hands felt their way along the walls as she moved toward the front door, her ears straining for any sound. The door was wide open, the cold night air flowing through freely. Her fingers found the lock and she bolted the door, her movements shaky. She stood there for a moment, listening, but the house was silent. She heard nothing. Grace made her way to the kitchen, her hand trailing along the counter until it found the knife block. One by one, she ran her fingers over the knives, counting, making sure each one was in place. And they all were, including the one that the police had returned to her earlier. She was flooded with relief, but it was fleeting. Something still felt wrong. She was sure she locked that door. She stood in the kitchen for what felt like forever, her fingers brushing over the counter, her ears searching for any hint of movement. Normally, even if somebody didn't make a move, her sense of hearing was so heightened that she could tell if someone was in the room with her. Eventually, she convinced herself it was her imagination and returned to her bedroom, locking the door behind her once more. When morning came, the sunlight did little to ease her fears. Grace moved cautiously through the house, her fingers brushing up against familiar surfaces as she made her way back to the kitchen. She had breakfast on her mind. As she reached the counter, the radio crackled to life again with another news bulletin. The inmate who was apprehended last night has escaped custody. Once again, authorities are urging residents to remain on high alert. She froze, the blood draining from her face. Slowly she reached for the knife block. Her fingers brushed the smooth wood and then moved to where the knives should have been. But they were not there. She felt the countertop and found that all of the knives were splayed out across the counter, each one lying in a different direction. All except one. The same knife the police had returned to her was missing. Grace's stomach churned as she backed away, her mind racing. She never found that knife, and as far as she knows, the man was never found either. But she could feel his presence lingering in the heavy silence of her little house. This happened a few years ago, and I get chills every time I think about wasn't one of those over the top dramatic things you see in a horror movie. It started off so normal, so mundane, that at first I didn't even think anything of it. But by the end of the night, I was questioning everything. It started with me trying to call my parents. I don't even remember why I needed to get a hold of them, maybe to ask if they had my old toolbox or if my mom had a recipe that I had forgotten. I called my mom's cell phone first. It rang a few times and then went to voicemail. Then I tried my dad's, same thing. That wasn't unusual for them. They've never been great about keeping their phones nearby, so I just figured they were busy or hadn't heard them ring. I decided to call the house phone. That landline never failed. It was their go to for everything. If I needed to reach them. That was the surest way. I dialed, and after a couple of rings someone picked up the phone. Hello? I said, assuming that it was my mom or dad. At first I didn't hear anything, just a faint crackling, like static. I thought maybe the connection was bad, so I said, mom? Dad, Are you there? Hello? There was no response, just more static, and then something else. It was faint, but it was there. It was some kind of whispering sound. It wasn't clear enough to make out words, but it sounded like more than one voice, like overlapping. They were all speaking at once. It sounded really weird, low and distorted, like it was coming through an old broken radio. My stomach dropped a bit. Mom? I said again, louder this time, my voice a little bit shaky. Dad? The whispering didn't stop if anything, it got louder. It wasn't frantic or angry. It was just calm. And that somehow made it even worse. I sat there gripping the phone. After about 10 seconds, the line went dead. I stared at the phone, my heart pounding. My parents live alone. No one else should have picked up that phone. I tried calling back, but this time there was no answer. I told myself it was probably just a weird interference or bad connection or something. Maybe I'd imagined the whispering, but deep down I knew something wasn't right. After sitting there for a while, overthinking and freaking myself out, I grabbed my car keys. Their house was only about 15 minutes away. I figured I would just stop by and make sure they were okay. It was probably nothing, right? It had to be nothing. The drive felt longer than usual. The roads were empty and the streetlights didn't seem as bright as they normally did. My headlights cut through the darkness and every shadow felt deep and sharp. I kept glancing at the rearview mirror, half expecting to see someone sitting in my backseat. For some reason, by the time I pulled into their driveway, my nerves were shot. At first, everything looked normal. The porch light was on and I could see the faint glow of the living room light, which was also on. Their cars were not in the driveway, though, which made sense if they were out. But still, something about the house felt off. Like it was quiet. A little bit too quiet, if you know what I mean. I walked up to the front door, trying to shake off the uneasiness. I knocked, the sound echoing through the night. The second that my fist hit the wood, the living room light turned off. I froze. My hand was still mid air and for a moment I stopped breathing. The porch light stayed on, but for some reason the living room light turning off was terrifying. I can't really explain why. I just didn't expect it. The entire house was plain plunged into darkness. My heart started pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Mom? Dad? I called out, my voice trembling. Hello? Are you guys home? No answer. I knocked again, harder this time, but nothing happened. Every instinct in my body was screaming, leave. I reached for the doorknob and it was locked. I did have a key, but something was telling me not to use it. I backed away from the front door, my eyes fixed on the darkened windows. I couldn't see anything, but I knew there was someone inside that house. I turned and hurried back to my car, my legs shaking with every step. Step. When I got in and locked the doors, I sat there for a moment, staring at the dark windows. The porch light flickered slightly, and I thought I saw a shadow shift inside. I didn't stick around to see anything more. I started the engine and drove off, my hands gripping the wheels so tightly my knuckles hurt. When I got home, I called my parents again, and this time my mom answered. Mom, I said, relief flooding my voice. Where have you guys been? I was just there. I've been trying to call you. She sounded confused. We were at the movie, Sweetie, she said. Why? What's going on? You've been gone. Since when? I don't know. I think we left around 7:30. The movie started at 8:30, she said. Why? What's wrong? I didn't know what to say. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had happened. N Nothing. Nothing, I lied. I just couldn't get a hold of you and I was just a little worried. I don't know why. Just forget it. After I hung up, I sat there in silence, staring at my phone. If they had been gone the whole time, who picked up the phone when I called? And who turned off the living room light when I knocked on the front door? The next morning, I decided to go back to their house during the daytime. I told myself it would feel less scary in the sun, but as soon as I pulled into their driveway, that same feeling hit me again. The house looked normal, but it really felt like someone was inside that should not be there. I went inside the house and checked every room, every closet, every corner. Everywhere. Everything was normal in its place. Nothing was out of the ordinary at all. But the air felt heavy, like the house was holding its breath. That probably doesn't make much sense, but that's how it felt. I walked down the hallway, and just for a moment, I thought I heard it again, that faint, distorted whispering sound. I bolted out of there without looking back. I didn't tell my parents what happened. I didn't know how to explain it without sounding crazy. But I haven't been back there alone since. Whatever or whoever it was that answered the phone and whoever turned off that light, I don't think it wanted me to leave. But I'm glad I did. Sometimes, late at night, I lay in my bed and wonder what would have happened if I pulled that key out of my pocket and went inside that house.